Beck and Call (23 page)

“Yes, mother dear,” he smiled. “Get back to work before your boss reprimands you for slacking off.” Laughing, Penny stood and leaned over the desk.

“Between you and me,” she whispered, “My boss needs a vacation. Like, now. Somewhere warm.

Away from the bullshit he’s had to deal with. Find someone to take his mind off of everything.”

“Enough, Pen,” he frowned, not liking her talk of companionship. He’d blown that and didn’t want to 175

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think about it.

Hours later Penny stormed back into Keith’s office and she started in on him about Ben’s constant presence,

“Enough already with the mother hen, all right?” she told him in exasperation. “I can’t even go to the ladies’ room without Mr. Brooding standing outside.”

“Penny, I won’t take a chance on someone else I care about being hurt,” he said quietly. “When Serena leaves the hospital, are you volunteering to replace her there?

Leaning back in his chair, he watched his cousin and regretted his words and actions. It was obvious Penny saw the exhaustion in his every move. And more than he realized he’d revealed. But this was his cousin, he told himself. He could relax his guard around her, right?

“You love her, don’t you?” she whispered, sitting down.

“I’m not loving anyone,” he retorted. Okay, Penny was more observant than he thought.

“You’re not Uncle Ken. You’re not my father,” she offered. “And you would never treat a woman the way they have. Or the way Mark did.” Approaching him, she stood next to his chair. “Keith, why don’t you talk to her?”

“Talk to who?”

“Serena, for Pete’s sake! She’s supposed to be released from the hospital tomorrow. Go get her.

Take a huge bouquet of roses. Tell her you love her!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Penny, why the hell would she want to be with me?”

“Well,” Penny frowned, tapping her finger against her chin. “You dress decently. You’re literate. Your hygiene’s pretty good. And you have 176

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decent table manners. Oh, and the most important thing...you can spit a watermelon seed farther than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Keith snorted, remembering the summer on the Cape so many years ago.

“How can you remember that?” he murmured.

“You were barely four.”

“I’ve always thought you were the best,” she told him.

“Except when I’m jealous of Mark?” She winced.

“Sorry about that,” she sighed. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Keith, go tell—”

“Penny, I didn’t protect her from Mark,” he ground out, shoving his chair away from the desk.

He paced over to the window. “Why the hell would she want to be with me?”

“How could you have known Mark would go after her?” Penny demanded. “You’re not God, Keith.

You’re a man.”

“I didn’t protect her,” he whispered, shaking his head. “She won’t want to be with me.” His head whipped around to pin her with a look. “And don’t say anything to her, understand me? This is my personal life and I want you to stay out of it.”

“You are a stubborn, bull-headed man who is so caught up in your own ego that you’d rather let her go than be human like the rest of us,” Penny glared at him. “Why would she want to be with someone so stupid, blind, and narrow-minded?” Stalking out, she slammed the door.

Clenching his jaw, Keith turned back to stare at his city.

That evening, he went to the brownstone. The super recognized him and let him into Serena’s apartment. It was still a mess from the previous night. Not wanting her to return to that, he began 177

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straightening things as much as he could. A lamp clicked on. Startled, he turned around and stared at the painting highlighted by the spotlight. Serena had said that her buying the piece, instead of taking Todd on a cruise, had led to their break-up argument. Keith moved closer to examine it. A deceptively simple scene at first glance—a peaceful meadow with a creek and mountains in the background. If one looked closer, the eye could see the details of the flowers and butterflies in the meadow, animals just inside the trees and hawks soaring about the mountains. Fairly impressive, he thought, realizing she knew art. Just as she had recognized the quality of the vase.

Suddenly wondering where it was, he glanced into the kitchen before going to her bedroom. The bed was rumpled and a pillow was on the floor.

Keith fought down the fury as he realized just how close she’d come to being raped. Grimacing, he turned to leave and paused. On the nightstand, resting on a lace doily, was the vase and wilting rose. Following his instincts, he opened the double drawer and smiled at the sight of the things he’d sent her. Reaching in, his finger brushed the cuffs.

How he would have loved to have seen her in them!

Suddenly the pain of never having Serena again, of being nothing more to her than her boss, made him fall to his knees and lean against the bed. He turned his face to the mattress to smother his shout.

All the fury and helplessness he’d felt since Claire described the attack broke free. Resting his head on the mattress, he beat his fists against the bed. His Serena had been threatened, attacked, and saved by others. He hadn’t done anything.

Emotionally drained, he replaced the pillow and straightened the comforter. Turning the light off, he closed the bedroom door and went to the painting.

Penny was right, he admitted. He loved Serena. And 178

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would never be able to tell her. Fighting back tears, he left the apartment.

Finally able to see visitors, Serena knew she should be more grateful to see Claire and Debbie.

And she was. They’d saved her from being raped and possibly killed. But they weren’t who she desperately wanted to see. Their chatter about all the changes at work didn’t get a reaction from her.

Debbie had been promoted and given a major project to work on. Claire already loved working for Jason, compared to what she called her ‘indenture’ under Mark. Serena just stared at the skyline. The floor was high enough for her to see the Statue of Liberty.

And that brought back erotic memories she couldn’t think about with her friends present. She didn’t even react when Claire passed on a message from Keith that she was to take the week off to recover and not return until the following Monday. When she was finally alone, she pressed the speed dial on her phone and after two rings got voice mail. The distorted voice she knew as Master didn’t say anything more than “leave a message.” Finally, after the nurse checked her vitals at two in the morning, she called again.

“Master?” she whispered. “I need to talk to you.

Please, call me.”

Closing the phone, she stared out the window of her hospital room.

For two days, she lay there, forbidden to get up beyond going to the bathroom. One of the three guards was always in the room. She asked who had told them to watch her. When they mentioned Keith, she fought the disappointment that washed over her.

She knew she should be grateful for Keith’s concern. He’d come to the hospital right after the attack, arranged for her and Debbie’s protection—as it was clear Paul and David were not leaving Claire’s side—and understood that she would not want to go 179

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to work until the bruises started to fade. Even though he knew he would need her in the office, he had insisted she not come in until she was ready.

Relieved and able to focus on recovering, she was also left to her own thoughts. Thoughts that increasingly reviewed the weekend. Had she unknowingly done something that upset or angered Master? She couldn’t figure it out. She was fairly certain she hadn’t done anything before Mark had burst into her apartment. If she had, he wouldn’t have sent the box with the note saying he would be coming over. So why wasn’t he answering the phone?

Why hadn’t he come to see her? The attack, along with all the corporate turmoil, had been on the front page of every NYC paper—“CEO’s Assistant Attacked After Mass Firings” and “PR VP’s Revenge on CEO’s Assistant” and “MacLauren Cleans House and Assistant Pays Price.” She hated that one and knew Keith was grinding his teeth about all the publicity.

And still no word from Master. Each hour without hearing his voice hurt more.

Finally allowed to leave the hospital Wednesday evening, Serena spent most of the next few days resting. Her parents called daily, trying to convince her to leave the “big, bad, dangerous city” and come home. It was what they’d been saying ever since she had left college, but now she was seriously considering it. She’d gone as far as she could professionally unless she went into management.

With Master ignoring her daily messages asking him to call her, she knew there was nothing here for her personally. She promised her mother she would think about it and let her know at Christmas.

Serena called him daily, but couldn’t bring herself to say anything besides a few words. She was afraid she’d break down and beg. Trying to feel closer to him, she poured through the books, 180

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especially the second one he’d given her. It only increased her conviction she had been a born submissive. Her dreams had been made real and then snatched away. She desperately wanted Master to call her, to claim her, to control her. She even tried to repeat the previous Friday night and nearly screamed in frustration when she couldn’t reach orgasm. The book explained why, but that only upset her more. Evidently once a submissive surrendered to a dominant, especially if an emotional bond was established, it might be nearly impossible for the submissive to orgasm without the dominant present in some way.

After working nearly twenty-hour days, exhaustion demanded Keith rest—whether he liked it or not—

on Saturday. Unable to sleep in his bedroom, he’d transferred a few clothes to the guest room and slept on top of that bed’s covers.

Waking Sunday, he focused bleary eyes on the clock, shocked to see it was nearly noon. He’d actually slept for twelve hours. With coffee and a decent breakfast in his system, he went to his home office. After fifteen minutes though, he reached for the phone. There were certain advantages, he grinned, in owning the building that housed your company, your home, and that of the person most likely to offer insight into your current situation live in.

“Francine? It’s Keith. Is Grant there?” A moment later the older man’s voice came on. “I need your advice. Mind if I come by?” Eschewing the elevator, Keith took the stairs to the floor below, where Grant had the entire level.

Francine, dressed in a pale lavender silk caftan, waited with the door open.

“Hello, Keith,” she smiled warmly, kissing her cheek. “Finally get some sleep?”

“I’m punchy I got so much,” he nodded. “How’s 181

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the little one?”

“Not letting me get any sleep,” she grimaced, patting her rounded tummy. “Come on. Grant’s painting in the nursery.”

As they went down the hall, Keith realized how the penthouse had changed. Before Francine, it had been sparsely furnished, except for Grant’s dungeon.

As he was, or rather had been, as much of a workaholic as Keith, Grant had bought furniture only when he needed it. A year ago, there had been only a grand piano in the living room. Now, there were paintings on the walls, Oriental rugs on the polished wood floors, and, as Keith knew, comfortable furniture in the living room. Francine had created a home.

“Yo, Grant!” he called down the hall.

Reaching the door, he blinked before laughing.

Turning, paint roller in hand, Grant glared at him, before seeing his wife beyond the other man.

“You, stay back,” he ordered her. “Paint fumes aren’t good for you.”

“Yes, dear,” she smiled, peering over Keith’s shoulder. “It looks wonderful, darling.” Putting the roller down, Grant pulled the paint-spattered tee over his head and let it drop to the floor. Keith stepped out of the way as Grant strode directly to his wife. Undeterred and unrepentant, she smiled up at him.

“I’m serious,” he said quietly, framing her face with his hands.

“I know,” she nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You need a break and Keith needs to talk.”

Keith glanced away at how the expression in Grant’s eyes was returned in full measure by Francine. All he could think about was he and Serena in a similar situation. And it hurt like hell to know it would never be.

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“So,” Grant murmured, guiding his wife back down the hall. “What is the problem?” He went to bar and began preparing their usual drinks. “I’m assuming this isn’t business related. The last subject we discussed?” he asked.

“Serena,” Keith confirmed with a nod.

Looking up from behind the bar, Grant put the last glass on the tray. Joining his wife and friend in the sitting area, he sat down and picked up his glass.

Francine took the glass of milk her husband handed her and relaxed against him on the couch.

“What’s the problem?”

“I love her.”

The couple exchanged amused glances that irked Keith. Standing, he paced. Grant tossed his whiskey back.